


Was lange währt wird endlich gut

by Marquesate



Series: Break this bittersweet spell on me [3]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-22
Updated: 2005-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquesate/pseuds/Marquesate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grey-haired man stood tall in the doorway. He had changed, no doubt, but he had aged well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Was lange währt wird endlich gut

 

The grey-haired man stood tall in the doorway. He had changed, no doubt, but he had aged well. Never having gained the weight that everyone had expected, in fact he had become somewhat leaner since - against all odds - he had found his love for hiking. When he smiled, rare and unexpected even after all those years, the lines in his face crinkled around his eyes, giving him a much mellower look than he had ever had before in his life.

"Do you invite me in or not?" His voice hadn't changed at all. Still the deep, soft darkness that could turn within a heartbeat to the harshest hardness the German language could muster.

"I know," He continued when he was met with a silent stare of disbelief, "it's been over five years and I promised you that I would never try to contact you, but.." he shrugged and the smile turned into a minutely wicked grin, making him look just as he had all those years ago, the day they had disbanded, knowing damn well that six aging men could not be any longer the angry Teutonic Sex Gods, keeping themselves from ridicule by keeping the reputation alive. Rammstein ceased to exist except on CDs and in music files and in the collective memories of hundreds of thousands of fans. "…but I lied. So what."

He was waved in at last with a hand that visibly shook. The man he had wanted to see, hear and speak to, was still just looking at him. The disbelief was giving way to a rapid succession of emotions that chased each other across the still-handsome, aged face. Seemed this man had finally allowed himself to accept the advancing years without artificial help. From what was visible in the black jeans and tight sweater, the body had been kept in an even fitter state than it had been five years ago.

"You haven't changed."

The other huffed in reply, rolling his eyes at the blatant lie, but did not say a word.

"Well, not much, anyway. You look damn good." The latter couldn't be anymore true.

He stepped closer until he stood right in front of the other, looking down at dark hair that had been allowed to grey and sophistically streaked at the temples. Somehow the other's silence did not disturb him at all. It was expected, perhaps even sought for, and almost soothing.

He smiled and shrugged. "Don't tell me you didn't expect me, or that at least you didn't have an idea that I would turn up. Everyone knew I was flying in and it could only have been for a particular reason." Tilting his head, he studied the other's expression that went briefly towards guilt. Yes, he had been expected, at least somehow.

Damn, it had been long. He should have ignored the other's passionate wish, should not have accepted to leave him alone, should have raged and furiously fought until he had convinced him that it was wrong, so very, painfully wrong, to never see each other again.

Wrong. But had it been?

They had changed over the last ten years. They were no longer two fucked-up men with torn souls and ragged egos. Once they had stepped of the near-daily limelight, finally left alone by even the most persistent of music journalists, they had had the chance to understand who they really were. Each and everyone of them.

He had been writing his poetry, branching out into prose of disturbingly beautiful darkness and publishing immensely successful fairy tales with twists that surpassed even the starkness of the Brothers Grimm. He'd been hailed as a writer, won acclaimed literary prizes, been taken seriously and had learned to deal with depression, anxiety, self-loathing and aggression.

He'd calmed, but hell, he hadn't become boring. Age had brought understanding but never smoothed the edged into dullness. He was still himself and would always be.

Just like the other had told him, so many years ago.

The other? He had followed his progress, of course he had. Watched the music channels, read the articles and felt almost ridiculously parentally proud when he had witnessed the rising success. From guitarist and occasional songwriter to prolific producer.

One highlight he would never forget, about two years ago, on the most famous world-wide satellite channel. Live and of course at prime-time, when everyone was watching. He had just known how much the other had to have been amused about the initial uproar and the delicious debate after he had created a stir, just like he had always liked it back in the days of Rammstein.

He had laughed at the famously infamous interview, where the proficient producer and songwriter had told the obnoxiously curious reporter out of the blue and with the most staggering air of indifferent nonchalance that his bisexuality was no one's business and if it mattered to them that he liked to shag men and even worse, if it really were anyone's business other than his own whom he loved, then they could stuff it up their virginal arses.

Oh yes, he remembered that interview well. It had been one of the moments when he had almost broken down, forgotten about his promise, but he hadn't contacted him, had remained true to his word and stayed out of the other's world.

 _Whom he loved_. Yes, indeed.

Studying the face, he realised one intense feeling above all of them coming to the surface. One that blew away all of the other thoughts, fears and doubts that he might have had. He knew his decision to seek the other out and come here at long last had been right. No matter what.

The knowledge that nothing had changed. No. Nothing. He still wanted him as much as all those years ago when he had finally realised what he should have understood right from the beginning.

Lost years, but under any other circumstances and if it had not happened what had meant to have happened then it would have never happened. Not lost, then.

He still smiled, unsure if he actually expected an answer or not, comfortable in the silence. He would leave, immediately, if asked to do so, but there was not a twitch of a muscle in the other's face, nor a movement of limbs. There was stillness, appearing as calm as he did.

Silence, for a long time, neither of them spoke, until at long last it was broken, unexpected and with a faint tremor in an otherwise warm voice.

"What took you so long, Till." Richard smiled and Till knew he had timed it just right.

 _Whom they loved_.

Indeed.


End file.
